Accidental Idiocy

Just FYI and shit, I AM the biggest spaz known to mankind. This is demonstrably true.

This morning, after having spent the entire day in bed – attempting to sleep off this damnable cold, I woke at 4:30. The cold was still with me but, HEY, maybe once I get up and moving, feed the cats, put some java on to brew, I’ll be back to abby-normal. l could take a leg strengthening ramble, do some painting AND mebbe Jen can drive me to the grocery so’s I can pick up granola and the cats’ favorite-est foods.

Hopes were high.

And then what happened, Donna? Well ya see, post back surgery, sitting up from a straight on horizontal position, is a tricky thing. This is true even when I’ve not been sleeping for 12 goddamned hours in an attempt to nap the shit outta this bug. What I need to do is roll onto my side, get my arms under me and push up. I’ve also found that swinging my legs, as in a VERY minor kip up  works a treat too. Nota bene: never, EVER employ both methods at the same time. EVER.

Yup, I fell out of bed AND smacked myself in the eye. You know, the one I just had surgery on in late October? Once I picked my spazoidal self up off the floor, I did a quick check:

1. am I bleeding? (no)
2. am I in monster pain? (there were ouchie, ouchies happening but Godzilla was not inna haus)

So, I did what any lazy ass, delusional nitwit would do – I crawled back into bed and immediately fell into Z-Land. I dreamed that The Amazing Bob had gone out with his buds and was very late in getting home. I was molto worried, especially since I needed him to have a look at my eye and tell me if I was gonna survive this latest idiocy. He’d fetch me a bag of frozen peas to slap on my face (to head off swollen, deep purple eye action).

Yup, reality crawled into dreamworld. TAB IS home but, from his crib under the cherry tree in the yard, I was pretty sure I was on my own for hitting the fridge for tiny frozen veggies.

So then, I got up, fed my mini cat herd, made some ginger tea and slapped the peas on my face. I also texted Jen who, on waking, came over and made me brekkie whilst scolding me for still having plans to go out for the day.

Ya know, I love my wee cottage but, DAY-UM, I’d like to get out for a bit. Me and recovery from a bad cold on top of major back surger, to paraphrase Dylan Thomas (whoever he was), just aren't going gently into that good nappage.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Night – Dylan Thomas (entire poem at the link)